Thrill
by Red Feathered Pen
Summary: It's all in the thrill of the hunt for the most feared Death Eater.


RFP: I always love this excuse mostly because I usually think it's bullshit. It's the "my computer messed up" one. Call it karma but my computer got screwed up and yea, I lost everything. Hell, I don't even have MS Word. It blows. Anyways, here's a test chapter of what I hope will be a nice short story.

* * *

The date August 7th stood out on the newspaper on the coffee table. It sat, strewn haphazardly on the dark wood, in the middle of what had been a lovely sitting room. Unfortunately not much remained that had not been broken, set ablaze, or covered in blood.

A man with brown hair woke up from darkness, only to awake to darkness. Not a single light remained in the house. A scream echoed from somewhere in the house and the man finally appreciated the situation he was in.

If someone had mentioned to him 6 years ago that magic existed, he would have said it was lunacy. But now, his home in ruins and blood everywhere, he accepted that magic was a power he could not combat a force he could not save his wife or his guests from.

"Ah, it would seem that you finally felt it acceptable to grace us with your presence. I didn't think one little _crucio_ would cause you to pass out. It would appear I have too much faith in the muggle population, wouldn't you say?"

The man froze as a shiver ran up his spine. He had sworn he had been in the room alone not a moment ago. It was impossible to make out the direction of the voice in the pitch black room. He crawled to his feet though his body groaned in protest. The vertebrae in his neck groaned from stiffness as he looked to where he had thought the voice originated from. His instincts were correct, and the stranger seemed to reward him by conjuring a small light. The man appraised the intruder.

He could not have been taller than his own 6 foot height and the voice wasn't deep enough to belong to a man over twenty years of age. He had a black robe, like all the others, and wore a mask. But where the robed man's counterparts had skulls of varying styles on their faces, this mask was blank and pure white.

And he was sitting in his favorite chair, leg crossed over the other, looking like they were just having afternoon tea.

"Go…t-to hell…"

The robed figure let out a laugh that was slightly high and laced with malice. A wave of a hand and quick spell hit him. "In due time. Yet for now, _take a seat_."

The muggle found himself moving on his own. His mind protested the movement, but it was futile. He took a seat on the sofa across from the robed monster. With a wave of his gloved hand, the dull pain returned to the muggle's body and control returned.

"I'd like to talk to you about your daughter." He smirked, relishing how the man's face turned to panic. As if on cue, a high-pitched scream echoed from upstairs.

"EMMA!" He lunged from the chair, only to be thrust casually back by an unseen force. "Goddamn you, let me see my wife!"

"No, no I don't think so. You should know that men have _needs_. Some men could desire a DB9, while others could be content with a summer cottage. Unfortunately for your wife, Emma I do believe you called her, my pack of Death Eaters is nothing more than a pack of jackals. And jackals only enjoy two things: blood and sex."

"Oh God no…." He began to sob and threw back his head. "EMMA!"

"Try to see the silver lining. The _Imperius_ curse puts a target under the caster's complete control and the target's mind floats in a haze of content. Last I checked, she was very enthusiastically pleasuring four men in ways I cannot say, it'll make me blush." The masked man let out a dark chuckle.

"You're sick…you all are sick! What gives you monsters the right to do this? You break into my home and begin raping and torturing my guests? Only a bunch of-"

"The guests are all dead, it's just your wife being raped , sir."

"AAAAAAAH," he howled in rage. The masked man watched with delight as the muggle thrashed against his confines. It was no matter, no amount of willpower from a common muggle could overcome a _petrificus._

He got up and plopped himself down on the coffee table across from the man. Grabbing the sobbing man's head by the hair, he pulled the muggle to eye level.

"Now," he whispered, "let's talk about your daughter. And this time, no interruptions. Tell me everything you know. I want to know everything!"

"E-Everything?"

The robed man sprang up and began pacing. "Yes you reprobate, everything. Hair color, eye color, hobbies, favorite food, likes, dislikes, musical tastes." He sent a slashing curse to the man's shoulder and sighed happily at his screams of pain. "Quickly."

"Brown hair, b-brown eyes, reading, shepherd's pie, books, bullies, op-opera and classical!"

The dark man twirled his wand between his fingers like a baton. "See, everything is much easier when you cooperate. She certainly seems to be quite the intellectual. I'd never expect a mudblood to appreciate the haunting beauty of the violin, nor the exquisite melodies of the piano. My humblest apologies but could you excuse me for one second."

The captive man could only watch as his tormentor got up and left. Struggle as he might, it was no use. From what his daughter had shared about magic, it was not something he could hope to break. Silently he cursed these robed men, cursed the world his daughter had left the safety of her home for, and most of all cursed the day 6 years ago that an owl had unexpectedly shown up with a letter.

He looked around as much as his head would let him. Everything was torn up or broken. The house he and his wife had made was in shambles, and he knew in his heart of hearts that this was how he was going to die.

But if he was going to die, he would die proudly. He would die like some dog and he most certainly would not help these men find his daughter. Dumbledore, or at least that's what he thought the man's name was, had promised she would be safe.

And despite the long white hair, beard, and ancient appearance, he trusted the old man's words.

The Death Eaters filed out of the house and four small pops were heard, though they may as well have been gunshots in the deafening silence of the house. His tormentor reappeared.

"Color me surprised, my subordinates must be lacking when it comes to finding suitable female company, because they had a lot of _frustration pent up_. Tell me, was your wife always such a little fiend? Oh, and emphasis on the word _was_, sir."

His world collapsed around him. There he had it; his wife of 20 years was dead. Snuffed out as if she were nothing more than a flame on a candle. Her death would only be remembered by a few monsters and last memories were of a group of strange men passing her around. The thought sickened him. But there was no room left for anger, despair had too much of a foothold.

"Let's wrap this up, shall we? I wish I could stay and torture you longer. I've never seen a man's reaction to his dead wife's defiled corpse being eaten by a pack of werewolves, but oh how I would love to find out. Another day and another family perhaps."

He spat at the man. "I won't tell you anything else. Do all you want to me; no amount of torture will break me." He glared defiantly, refusing to not meet the eyes of this monster.

"I quite agree. Fortunately, you remember what I said about the _Imperius_, do you not?" The captive man paled. "In several minutes you'll be giving all the information I desire."

And true enough to his word, the muggle had caved immediately under the curse. He told the monster everything, everything he knew about the magical world, about his daughter, and about Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix.

"I thank you for your cooperation."

The bleeding and broken man chuckled bitterly. "My daughter will find you and the Order will kill you, we will be avenged."

The masked man backhanded his counterpart. With a sigh, he grabbed his mask and pulled it off. He took his hood down and for the first time ever, he was staring a victim in the eyes without his mask on.

"Viola. Now do you understand? Can your insignificant little brain process this?"

"You're just a b-boy." A cutting curse severed the man's left arm and went through the chair effortlessly. The man threw back his head and screamed.

At that moment he noticed the two human bodies pinned to the ceiling, their faces contorted in agony. They had been above him the whole time. Seeing his colleague and his wife dead, on top of knowing his wife was dead as well, stabbed his heart like an icy blade.

"Tell me, does it terrify you, knowing that the person who led the assault against your home was no older than your daughter? Imagine what kind of chaos that kind of person must be capable of creating. When we turn 17, the magical world expect us to make our mark on society as full-fledged witches and wizards. I intend to do just that. " Another cutting curse and another arm was gone, leaving two heavily bleeding stumps behind. Again there was no scream, only a question.

"W-w-why…"

He laughed, and it held nothing but cruelty. "People always want to know why and you know what? I get it! In the future, people will look back and ask why. They'll want to know what drives us. They'll want to know what caused all the slaughter and then seek to insure it never happens again. And you know what, for the rest of these mongrels, that's fine." He severed the man's right leg next.

"Most of those in our ranks want pureblood supremacy; they want to be at the top of the food chain. But they don't realize that killing everyone else is fucking stupid! What is the point of sitting on the throne if there is nobody to bow to you? Not to mention the inbreeding. They fuck their second cousins in some vain attempt of keeping their blood pure. Ironic, isn't it? They want to keep their blood pure and yet they have the foulest blood of all. Oh, I almost forgot..." He severed the man's last leg and with four _incedio_ cauterized the wounds. But the man would not scream despite the extreme amount of pain, and he felt himself be a little impressed.

"Where was I? Oh yes, all these pieces of filth have plans. They have these little schemes as they try to crawl their way to the top. But me, I'm different. My parents were murdered, did you know? Killed actually by the very man I work for."

"…why… work…him…."

"They were weak, led around by a decrepit old man and his sterling ideals. Peace and equality for all? Don't make me laugh. We give an inch, it is taken a mile. Mudbloods love to wax poetically about their electricity, their automobiles, and their technology. But the truth is you people spread like a virus, covering everything in a rash of concrete. You are a festering sore that pollutes the skies. And yet you people come into my world and say that you can make it _better?_ It's absurd."

He picked up his mask and put it back on. "But I will be truly honest with you, I do not care in the least about any of that. I was born to destroy. These hands cannot heal, they cannot help. These are the hands that commit murder and bomb buildings. Magic is my instrument and chaos my muse, and the music we make together is my masterpiece."

The robed man shot off five spells that sent bright blue fireballs homing to the four corners of the house. They ignited with four small explosions and engulfed the now dark house in eerie blue light. Light that spread uninhibited.

"She…find…you…"

"I am counting on it, Mr. Granger. I expect I will be seeing your daughter in the near future. Farewell." With a flick of his wand he conjured another small lick of blue flame. With one more flick the blue fire landed on the captive man's lap and began to spread slowly and the muggle began to scream.

'So much for silence.'

He strolled to the mantle and looked at the largest photo there, adorned in a silver frame. The girl had brown hair that fell down in very loose curls and deep chocolate eyes. He had to admit, with her fair skin and attractive physique, she was quite fetching. It was almost a pity to have to do away with something so pretty.

'No matter, Tom told me to kill a mudblood after all. And I do love a good challenge.' He broke the glass from the picture frame and pocketed the photo inside. Looking back at the man, only the bottom half of him was on fire. He was pleased to see the charred skin below but he wondered if perhaps he should have put a little more effort into the spell.

'He'll be dead soon enough,' he thought as he strode to the door. Crossing the threshold, he took one look back. He stared at the screaming man and silently thanked Merlin for silencing wards. The robed man walked outside and was greeted by a patiently waiting Severus Snape.

"Success?"

"Yes, Severus. We have more than enough information. It will take some careful planning by me and the Master, however."

Severus nodded. "What information am I permitted to give Dumbledore? The old goat needs his feeding and I cannot go to the Headquarters without some information."

The robed man crossed his arms and bowed his head in thought. "Do not disclose that the Granger's daughter is in any danger. And as always, never mention my identity"

* * *

'I miss them so much. Why did it have to be them?' Hermione Granger sat on her bed at 12 Grimmauld Place sobbing. It had been two weeks since her parents had been murdered and those responsible were still at large. The death of her parents had hit the entire Order hard. It had been a clear sign that there was nobody who was safe, no haven in which to hide.

She had lost weight, her skin was paler than usual, and nobody had seen her smile or say more than a few words since. Part of her just wanted to die and see her parents. If she was dead then there would be no more pain and her family could be whole again.

But what scared her the most was the other side of her: the part that wanted revenge. Those dark tendrils had crept into her mind while she isolated herself from the world. More and more she wished to see the people who took her family away suffer, suffer under her wand. Hermione was a good girl, yet in her heart she wanted retribution.

BANG.

Hermione jumped off her bed, wand in hand, and flew down the stairs towards the noise. 'Oh God, please nobody else. God no..."

She spun around the corner to see Bill and Charlie Weasley, Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt carrying a man who was tied up from head to toe with what she identified instantly as prisoner's _incarcerous_. Beneath the mass of ropes, the man had black robes and a plain white mask. She gasped and pointed her wand at the man. He was a Death Eater.

"_Stupefy!_" The spell hit the Death Eater head on, but it did nothing. It was like she had never cast the spell in the first place. 'No!' There was a deadly gleam in the girl's eyes as she let off a volley of spells, each one being more vicious than the last. The four men dove out of the way, with Bill pulling Hermione away from the scene. She clawed violently at anything that would keep her in the room.

"He knows who killed my parents!"

"Stop," Charlie yelled, "get away from here, he's dangerous!"

Bill wrapped the girl in his arms as she began to bawl. Her hands clung fiercely to his back. "Shh, shh, it's ok. We'll get answers. I promise."

The motionless Death Eater sat up, still bound tightly. His green eyes were lit up in delight, and they locked with the girl's. He looked every bit a demon in her eyes.

"Hermione. Hermione Granger." The Death Eater began to chuckle.

She pried herself from the eldest Weasley. "How...how do you know my name?"

The chuckling grew louder. "That's very rude, not asking my name. Didn't your parents teach you manners?" The man winced. "Sorry, too soon?" He broke out in laughter.

"_Crucio!"_ The Death Eater began to silently convulse in pain. Bill grabbed her wand and managed to pull it away from her after several long seconds of fighting.

The soft laughter returned. "I expected better from the proper Hermione Granger. Top in the class in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, and Transfiguration. Second in Transfiguration, third in Defense, and sixth in Potions. Though I do believe dear Severus doesn't give you nearly enough credit."

"How do you know all this," Moody growled, grabbing the Death Eater's throat. "Speak now or you'll lose the ability to!"

"And beautiful," the Death Eater continued, ignoring Moody, "that I didn't expect. Photos don't do you justice Ms. Granger. Such violent eyes and a body that surely you got from your mother. I would know, after all."

Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore burst through the front door at that moment. Dumbledore swept quickly towards the bound man, while the others helped Bill restrain Hermione.

"I believe Miss Granger could use a good cup of tea. Remus, Sirius?"

She thrashed against the three men, hissing and spitting like a mad cat. "I DON'T WANT FUCKING TEA! I WANT ANSWERS!"

"You'd get...answers if one-eye would stop...choking me."

"Do not listen to him, Hermione. I am sorry, but you will not get them tonight. I beg you, what you have gone through is a terrible ordeal, but please heed me this once," the old man sighed heavily. "Alastor, release his throat. He is of no use to us dead."

"Says you," Moody growled. Nonetheless, the Death Eater found himself able to breathe easy again.

"And you people call me evil, do you? That's not very nice, Dumbledore. And a bit hypocritical."

Dumbledore glared down at the man before him. The robed man could understand a little bit why so many feared him. 'He's still just an old man, though. He has been surpassed.'

"Allow me to indulge her. Firstly, you may call me Noctis." There were gasps all around, and even Dumbledore looked taken aback. Noctis was the name used for Voldemort's deadliest Death Eater, the terrorist who had blown up half a wing at St. Mungo's and murdered Cornelius Fudge. And that was just what they knew for certain.

"Secondly, and most importantly, I know all this information about you because your father told me all that and much more, right before I cut off his limbs and burned him alive, of course."

* * *

I posted this chapter a little early, before I could edit it and those who first read it, here is the second part.


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